The Start of the Third School Year

Dumbledore was dead, but life had to go on. After the professors discussed the matter, Professor McGonagall became headmistress of Hogwarts.

The position of Gryffindor head of house was left vacant.

There was no helping it. For the time being, that was how things had to be.

But Harry's attention had been elsewhere lately.

For once, her attention had recently been captured by Voldemort, that one snake.

Voldemort—that snake who was always chattering and making caustic remarks-had fallen silent, as though a Nonverbal Spell had been cast on him, ever since Grindelwald appeared at Dumbledore's funeral and single-handedly turned a funeral for one into a joint burial for the two of them.

At first, Harry had been glad to finally have some peace and quiet, but gradually, the unusual silence began to make her uneasy.

What on earth was he plotting?

At night in the Gryffindor dormitory, Hermione's breathing came from the other side of the four-poster bed, and moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains onto Harry's blanket. She stared at the snake-shaped bracelet on her wrist. Its scales gleamed coldly in the dim light, like some kind of dormant curse.

At last, she couldn't hold back.

"What are you plotting?" she asked in a low voice.

The bracelet vibrated slightly, and Voldemort's familiar, mocking sneer sounded in her mind. "If I really were plotting something, do you think I would tell you?"

Anger flared through Harry. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

Silence spread again.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, Voldemort spoke again. This time, though, there was no mockery in his voice, only a hint of confusion that even Harry found unbelievable.

"Why did Grindelwald kill himself?"

Harry ignored him.

For once, Voldemort didn't get angry. After a long silence, he continued, "Why did I lose?"

Half-asleep, Harry was jolted awake by his question. She sat bolt upright and raked a hand through her hair in annoyance. "Because you don't understand what love is at all!"

Voldemort fell silent.

Harry fell back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her head, ready to go back to sleep.

But a few seconds later, Voldemort's voice came again, this time carrying a bewilderment she had never heard from him before.

"Love?"

The simple word sounded like some unfamiliar spell in his mouth, carrying a weight that was hard to comprehend.

Harry froze.

She suddenly realized that Voldemort was genuinely confused.

He had died twice, and both times he had been defeated by the same intangible thing.

The first time, Lily Potter's sacrificial spell had reflected his Killing Curse.

The second time, Narcissa had concealed the fact that Harry Potter was still alive, deceiving the Dark Lord and all the Death Eaters.

And now Grindelwald, a Dark Lord who had once held the world in contempt, had chosen to end his own life because of Dumbledore's death.

Voldemort had never understood that power.

He had once dismissed it, believing it was nothing but an excuse for the weak.

But now he was beginning to wonder: if love really meant nothing, why did it always destroy everything he had so carefully arranged?

Harry felt as though she could sense Voldemort wavering.

It suddenly struck her as absurd that the most dangerous dark wizard in the world was asking her for the definition of "love" in the middle of the night.

"...Go to sleep," she finally murmured. She turned over and closed her eyes.

Voldemort said nothing more.

The Dark Lord who had come to this world with Harry was pondering what love really was, while the other, native Dark Lord's diary had been burned along with Dumbledore's body.

With his Horcrux destroyed, he had lost his way of bewitching someone into trading their life to bring him back, and he made no moves.

For once, Harry spent a peaceful school year at Hogwarts. Voldemort caused no trouble, she wasn't caught up in any troublesome affairs, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who was all show had been dismissed. The term could basically be called perfect.

Except that Dumbledore had died.

That heavy atmosphere lasted until the beginning of the third term, when the new students and the newly arrived professor brought a little cheer to Hogwarts.

The curtains in the Hospital Wing swayed gently in the breeze, and sunlight spilled through the gaps, dappling the floor. Harry was so pale she was almost translucent. The red hair on her forehead was soaked with cold sweat and stuck to her skin. Hermione and Ron supported her on either side as they entered the Hospital Wing, until Madam Pomfrey hurried over and waved her wand, setting Harry gently down on a soft bed.

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. "What happened to you?"

"Dementors." Ron's voice trembled a little. "On the train... they suddenly barged in, and Harry..."

Hermione took over, speaking rapidly. "She passed out, Professor. A professor who was sharing our compartment on the journey saved Harry, but it didn't help much."

Her eyes were slightly red, and she had clearly been badly frightened too.

Madam Pomfrey bent down to examine Harry at once. A soft silver light glowed at the tip of her wand as she swept it gently over her. A moment later, she sighed in relief. "She's only a little weak."

She turned, took a box of sweets from the medicine cabinet, and pressed it into Harry's hand. "Eat this. It'll help you regain your strength."

Ron frowned. "What's going on with those Dementors? They spent the whole holiday looking and still couldn't catch Black?"

Hermione pursed her lips and lowered her voice. "If he dared break out of Azkaban, he surely won't be so easy to catch."

Harry silently broke apart the Chocolate Frog. Its cloying sweetness melted on her tongue, but it couldn't dispel the chill in her heart.

Sirius...

In this life, news of Dumbledore's death had clearly spurred him to act.

Before the previous term had even ended, the newspapers had already reported Black's escape.

In this life, Aunt Petunia doted on Harry. When the Hogsmeade permission form arrived, she had offered to sign it for her, but despite Aunt Petunia's repeated hints, both subtle and direct, Harry ultimately hadn't brought it out.

Though she felt a little sorry toward her aunt, Harry hardened her heart and stuck to her goal.

I want Sirius's signature.

The thought stubbornly occupied her heart.

Madam Pomfrey waved a hand. "All right, you two go on out and let her rest."

Hermione gave Harry a worried look, while Ron seemed about to say something but stopped. In the end, they both left the Hospital Wing.

The room fell quiet, with only the soft rustle of the curtains. Harry stared at the ceiling, her thoughts in turmoil.

Will he come looking for me?

Last time, Sirius had come to protect her and keep her safe from the threat of Peter Pettigrew.

This time, perhaps he had broken out early simply because he wanted to see her.

Harry closed her eyes, letting the sweetness of the chocolate and her exhaustion together drag her into a hazy dream.